


The Problem of the Plums

by darklittlestories



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Always with the Plums, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Thor, Brief Mention of Classism, Brief Mention of Misogyny, But they're babies in a warrior culture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Food Porn, Fruit, Grief, I may overzealously tag but rather that than under-warn, Insomnia, Light BDSM, Loki is too Amused Probably, M/M, Pining, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Civil War (Marvel), Pseudo-Incest, Sibling Incest, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Top Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9933377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklittlestories/pseuds/darklittlestories
Summary: Thor suspects Loki lives; but he just couldn't, as Thor is here alone on Midgard. Dead his brother might be, but not living without Thor.Loki should be here, with him or against him. They should be locked in battle or fighting together. On the Dark World, Thor’s blood had sung in vicious delight at teaming with Loki against a common enemy. They had worked together as never before, Loki’s magic and Thor’s might seamless and relentless against Malekith and his elves.





	1. Unhealthy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sigynthefaithful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigynthefaithful/gifts).



> A Very Happy Birthday to our dear Siggy. Have an amazing day, sistermama! When it's morning here I'll get the next chapter online:D *big hugs & a hundred kisses*

He had known something was amiss from the last moment he’d seen his father. But only later had the small tingle at the back of his mind grown strong and coalesced into an idea. The possibility that steals his sleep from him. Robs him of his peace of mind.

Slumped, he’d been, on the throne. Body posed all at angles. At the time, Thor had thought it was exhaustion and grief. But now, in the small hours in this temporary lodging on Midgard, Thor examines this moment and others. He remembers how quickly the blush of life had sunk from Loki’s skin on Svartalfheim, but he tells himself that his brother was truly Jotun, not Asgardian, and this accounts for the terrible grey that has frozen itself forever into Thor’s mind—grey like rime over stone.

Sometimes he thinks the Allfather’s bearing was less a defeated and stricken parent and more of a lounging, gloating triumph. And he knows that body language all too well.

It can be true, he knows with certainty, that his brother has made them all fools again. It can be true that Odin has sunk into the Sleep and Loki now wears his form and the mantle of his rule.

That, Thor thinks, is easily plausible.

But what his reeling, unsleeping mind cannot grasp as truth is the continued absence of his brother. This is the unbearable idea that he tries to explain out of existence.

It cannot be that they are separated once more. Not again. _Not again,_ he whispers to the empty chamber and he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, the tears escaping regardless. Loki should have come by now, if he yet lives.

He cannot possibly be ruling in Asgard and not come here to throw his victory at Thor like a trophy. Like a gauntlet, or like a fact used as a war prize.

So it cannot be that Loki lives; but it must be. Thor can accept neither thing.

Loki should be here, with him or against him. They should be locked in battle or fighting together. On the Dark World, Thor’s blood had sung in vicious delight at teaming with Loki against a common enemy. They had worked together as never before, Loki’s magic and Thor’s might seamless and relentless against Malekith and his elves.

Thor sobs out a stifled cry at the memory of his brother bodily shielding sweet Jane against the elven weapons. The weeping pushes out of him in a full flood now, images of Loki taunting Thor and Jane as she held the Aether within; of Loki’s petty jealousy when Thor had met her—the way he’d spat out, “that woman”—how it had become mere disdain by the time they’d all gone to confront Malekith.

And then Jane herself dances through his mind, her tiny fists pounding his chest as she’d shouted and wept. He hadn’t come for her after Sokovia. Instead, he'd gone seeking answers having seen horrors upon his own realm. He had known then that he always would heed Asgard’s call. His home would come first, the home he’d shared with his first love, his first secret, his first and only everything.

So he had stood there as Jane wore herself down. As she cried until her eyes dried red and told him, with her lip quivering, that she couldn't “do this” anymore.

He'd felt relief then and in its wake guilt, but neither of those touches the whirling worry that stirs his mind in the night.

Thor is looking careworn, lately. Ragged even.

Steve worries over him these days, and had insisted on taking Thor with him that afternoon for something called ‘vitamin D’ (it seemed from context clues to be an alternate name for Midgard’s sun, perhaps) and fresh produce. That turned out to be a Midgardian, or at least a Brooklynite, term for fruits and vegetables. The sunshine had indeed lifted his spirits as he strolled an outdoor market with Steve, who repeatedly referenced an idiom about Thor’s eyes carrying bags. He’s seen in the looking glass the puffy darkness under them, so he cannot begrudge his friend’s concern.

They’d bought enough that both of their arms bunched with effort as they returned to the tower. Thor feels a little bit more at home with Rogers than the others, if only because they each eat so much more than the others.

He smiles softly to himself, and decides to go fetch a snack, giving up again on getting any rest.

Rubbing the salt from his face, he goes to the floor with the kitchen and living spaces. He'd sampled some fruits of Midgard at their group dinner, but he's craving the familiar now. They’d traded the strange paper money for plums at one stall, and they looked well enough like the plums that grew in Asgard and Vanaheim. He wonders if they grow on all the realms. He likes the idea of something so small unifying all the realms.

FRIDAY lights his way with dim golden lights low to the floor as Thor walks the stairs and halls of Stark’s tower. After declining the machine’s aid, he walks into the kitchen and stops short. The baskets are heaped with apples, peaches, the odd mangoes and bananas.

But the plums are gone.

Thor stands scratching his head, befuddled, and takes five peaches with more disappointment than the fruit warrants. He's passed over the apples. Though they are familiar, he can’t stomach the apples from this world. Having tasted of Idunn’s orchard these taste like water.

Despondent, he wanders back to his chamber. The sun is painting the view of the east pink before Thor’s eyes finally fall closed.

* * *

That afternoon, Rogers had pulled Thor aside and quietly shared that he often missed sleep, too. He and Thor had sparred until they were both sweat-soaked with aching muscles. After a long shower and hearty meal Thor had finally fallen asleep.

He wakes shivering and confused, his flesh pimpled and puckered in the strange chill of the room. He lights the lamp and sees that the glass of the corner windows is glistening with a thin layer of frost. An unfamiliar shape rests on the table there, and when his eyes adjusts to the light, Thor’s jaw drops.

It is a basket of gold, woven in the intricate patterns of Alfheim, and piled high with deep violet-black plums. They sparkle, drops of dew adorning them like diamonds. His throat tightens with emotion.

“JARV- er, FRIDAY?” he croaks, “Has anyone visited my rooms this eve?”

Was it possible he hadn’t seen the basket when he’d returned to the bed chamber?

“No, sir. I’ve reviewed the video footage from 1200 to 0200 hours and you are the only one visible. Scanning the infrared spectrum now, sir.” After the briefest pause, the voice informs him, “There are no anomalies in any readings, Mr. Odinson. May I check anything else for you?”

“When… when did the basket of plums appear?”

“Plums, sir?” FRIDAY asks.

“You can’t see them?” Thor hears an odd note of hope in his own voice.  
  
“My readings indicate that the only organic matter in the room are yourself, within your usual non-human parameters, and the pits of five peaches in the wastebasket. Should I raise an alarm? Your heart rate is elevated. Is it… problematic that there are no plums? Or shall I add them to the shopping list for Mr. Stark’s interns?”

“No, and I thank you for your aid, as ever.” He's grown accustomed to the disembodied intelligence, though the rhythms of the new female voice sometimes surprise him still. He does like the melodious accent of the new program.

“Very well, sir. Have a restful night.”

He is asleep the moment his head touches the pillow, and he dreams of home in his youth.

_Loki giggled at him, his face full and pink, a fine dusting of freckles dancing across his nose and cheeks. “Your lips are so red! You look like a maiden, Thor!” He jumped up and darted away, tossing a look over his shoulder to ensure Thor was following._

_Thor squealed as he chased his little brother. “Your fingers are stained too, like the ink-makers. I may be a woman, Loki, but you’re a PEASANT.” And he launched himself at his tricksy sibling and caught a fine-boned ankle. Loki went sprawling in the grass, looked at his hands, tinted green and red and they both laughed and laughed._

_Loki kept his teasing until finally he declared Thor the fairest maiden in the court and teased, “Give us a kiss.”_

_Thor called the bluff and they had kissed, rollicking in the grass until their lips were swollen and tender as well as red._

_The dream flashed to Thor’s would-be coronation: “Give us a kiss.”_

  
Thor wakes with tears pooling cold and unpleasant in his ears. The frost is gone from the windows, but the plums remain. The wind sighs outside the room, and Thor forgets that he’s never heard the weather penetrate the architecture of Tony’s building.


	2. With Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [ravenbringslight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenbringslight) for beta editing. You're fantastic, darlin'! (Previous chapter mistakes are in no way Raven's fault. Nor this one, actually, as I changed a few bits after I used her suggested edits.)

The plums never change—never over-ripening, never rotting—but Thor can’t bring himself to eat them. His days and nights move in a blur of repetition. He trains with the others as often and as hard as he can push himself. The team fights a Hydra cell but they fall too easily. He can’t challenge himself enough to create distractions, and at night the same scenarios play out behind his eyelids when he finds sleep.

When he cannot sleep, he stares blankly at the golden basket and tries to find explanations for its appearance.

His eyes are circled with violet and his cheeks grow gaunt.

He can see his veins popping too prominently over his muscles as he loses weight.

* * *

On a warm, bright Saturday, Natasha and Clint time Thor and Steve as they run a loop in the great Central Park. Tony calculates Thor’s advantage and with the handicap tapped into a tablet computer, they race for their friends.

Thor knows his teammates mean to tire him out and he's grateful for the effort. His body sings with the feel of pumping blood and well-used muscle, though his mind is still ill at ease. With her almost eerie insight, Natasha senses this. She makes a subtle comment to Tony, musing that Thor’s military experience suits him well to the game called ‘chess’ and that she believes this intuition will trump Tony’s cleverness.

Tony takes the bait perfectly, and for the next two hours, they play at moving the little figures across the board. They’re at an impasse several times, and Thor learns the term ‘stalemate.’ Eventually, Tony is victorious, and he crows happily about the ‘Sea Cadet Mate’ and “Only ten moves! Against a _god!_ I mean, really, I should have FRIDAY run a battery of IQ tests against Bulky, Blond, and Deceptively Brainy here, but you got _creamed_ , Thunderman. By a mortal. Drink? Let’s drink. I,” he drops a trademark dramatic pause, “have just beaten a god.”

So they drink. Thor samples whiskeys from around the territories of Midgard and finds the Scotch favors his palate more than the Irish whiskey, but he scandalizes Tony when he declares the bourbon from Kentucky to be his favorite.

Then Tony spots the upside and unburdens half his stock of bourbon into a bottomless Asgardian belly. They order pizza and Thor eats a bit, only two pies, for by now his mind is wandering as the bottles of liquor settle into a faint hum, loosening him. The simmering melancholy bubbles up to the surface again.

As soon as Steven begs leave of the group, Thor decides it will be polite enough to bid them all good night as well.

* * *

He's feeling a little lazy with drink and his mental and physical weariness, so Thor rides the elevator up to his rooms. FRIDAY wishes him a goodnight in rolling, feminine speech patterns. Thor finds it comforting, but he's still well aware that he's sulking.

His feet are leaden, his gaze down as he enters his area of the tower and opens the door to his bedroom.

So bare feet are the first part of his brother Thor sees since Loki’s apparent death.

He takes in the air of ineffable casualness in Loki’s posture and clothing. He’s leaning against the glass, wearing something much like the simple fabrics he’d favored in the cells on Asgard. The real clothing, beneath the illusion. Only here the trousers are neat and fitted and the tunic clean and of better fibers, tailored but draping fluidly over a hale form. For the first time in a long while, Loki looks far more healthy than his brother.

Thor stands petrified in place as Loki finishes off a plum, holding eye contact shamelessly as he licks his long fingers clean. Thor’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly before he finds his voice.

“FRIDAY, is there anyone in my chamber?”

“No, sir, only yourself.”

Loki gives that bird-like tilt of the head that conveys skepticism and exasperation. He twirls his fingers in the air in a graceful motion, and an only just visible shimmer surrounds him.

“Pardon me, Mr. Odinson. I’m now sensing another presence, nearly similar biometrics to your own. Is everything okay, sir?”

Loki winks.

Thor doesn’t realize he’s crying until he answers and tastes salt. “Yes, I’m… safe. C-can you please cease watching my room?” 

“I’ll ask the boss,” the AI responds.

Thor mumbles for it not to bother, but to alert the others about his visitor if, and only if, Thor asks for help.

“Sure thing, sir.”

Loki laughs quietly and his easy aloofness finally shoots through Thor like electricity.

He’s on Loki in a flash, a jumbled tangle of emotion riding on a wave of rage.

“Why now?” he demands, fists full of Loki’s tunic and lifting his cackling brother in the air.

“ _Why,_ Loki! How could you leave me here with this? I thought you were dead. I saw you die! I _held_ you. You let me hold you in my arms as you died.” He’s roaring, face an inch from Loki’s.

The laughter dies in those green eyes and Loki’s face falls into a grim, tight expression and the fury leaves Thor in a rush. He pulls Loki against him in a tight, possessive embrace.

“Why didn’t you come sooner, Brother?” Thor whispers.

Loki pulls back. “I did, you great lackwit.” He gives Thor a wounded look. “You wouldn’t even eat them.”

And he pouts.

Thor has been grieving even through his doubt, always grieving and missing Loki terribly, and the maniac is here now, pouting at him as if he is the wronged party. Thor considers pummeling his brother senseless, but the fight has gone out of him. He just sits heavily and stares.

Loki’s face gentles. “Thor, you look like a draugr. Eat.”

Thor glares.

Loki pulls a plum from the basket and pulls the flesh apart, juices messing his hands. The scent is tart and delicious in the air, so Thor relents and reaches for his share. Loki snatches it away, just out of reach, and with the other hand he pushes down Thor’s arm. Loki feeds him from his hand, and Thor knows he’s falling into his brother’s trap. But he goes anyway. He’ll be Loki’s fool as long as he draws breath. He can see how this will play out and he doesn’t hesitate any longer.

He suckles the last of the fruit from Loki’s fingers and then then he’s fed the other half. He lets Loki feed him three more before Loki turns away to dig through the basket.

“What are you—”

Loki cuts him off short, “Brother mine, you really are an imbecile,” and turns back, brandishing an apple that glows faintly with golden light.

Thor wants to smash one of their skulls with Mjolnir, but cannot decide whose.

“Eat it, Thor,” Loki instructs.

Thor decides now that since he’s wriggling in the trap, he may as well enjoy it.  
  
He smirks up at Loki. “Make me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Siggy, I swear I didn't mean to write sadness for your birthday. I just... my fluffy is broken? Eh, let's not pretend: I don't HAVE a fluffy. But I do have a storm of porn brewin' for ya. xx


	3. Stuffed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhh, months late, but finishes at last, Siggy! <3
> 
> Un-beta'd, so please point out any errors as always:)

Thor is unsure what he’d expected but this is one of the stranger bed sports he and Loki have ever played. 

Though it feels familiar enough.

He’s on his knees and elbows, wrists and ankles tied with silk produced from nowhere in a glitter of Loki’s seidr. He would feel as trussed as a spitted boar thus bound, but Loki could not be content with simply tying him and so Thor’s mouth is forced wide and stuffed with a golden apple. He’s certain no one has ever invented so perverse a use for Idunn’s fruit. It’s held fast with magic.

A would-be moan becomes a muffled grunt when Loki begins stroking Thor in long, expert touches, tracing every erogenous patch of skin discovered over centuries of exploring.   


One hand caresses his ear, then cups his jaw. Loki gives a pleased hum at the stretch there. The other hand skirts over the backs of Thor’s ribs then presses and rubs at each vertebra up his spine. Loki hooks both hands around the jutting crests of pelvic bone, clicking his tongue at his brother’s ill care for this body. Then, contradicting his own worry, reminds Thor to resist biting further into the apple. 

Thor nods his assent and groans when he’s rewarded with Loki’s hands on his backside, thumbs slipping into the seam and long fingers parting his cheeks. Loki nudges Thor’s knees farther apart with one of his own. The silk loosens just enough to allow his ankles to cross, then tightens back snug and secure. 

“Very good, Sweet Brother. You look tempting enough to eat. Shall I?” Loki bends to mouth a wet kiss over Thor’s tailbone. He chuckles darkly. “Say yes if you wish me to feast on your hole.”

“Yfff!” 

“What, no? Well, if you’re quite sure, then I shan’t indulge my appetite.”

“Fffffk yhhhh, Lkkll.”

Loki shakes the bed with silent laughter. “Worry not, Brother Mine,” he punctuates  _ mine _ with a sharp slap to Thor’s buttock. “I will provide us both with pleasures enough, and then some.”

Thor drops his head in surrender, and Loki conjures a vial of oil. Another glimmer of seidr warms it, and he tips some of the amber fluid onto Thor’s ass, admiring the slip and shine of it as it runs down the cleft. 

Thor makes a higher pitched, needy sound that goes low and deep when Loki’s finger follows the oil’s path. If there were further shame to be had, he’d feel it now for arching his back in wanton offering, but this is a negligent thing in light of his debasement. 

And his display is rewarded. Loki presses in, slick and slender middle finger going as far as it can reach and gliding back out. He dribbles more oil onto his fingers and adds a second, pumping lazily and pressing against the little nub of nerves inside. Thor’s heavy cock is weeping and throbbing, and a damp patch of his fluid joins the trickle of oil on the sheets. He’s pulling air in hard through his nose, but over his labored breaths he hears the obscene wet sound of Loki stroking himself.

Thor whines and earns a third finger and a deep, luxurious moan from Loki. He wonders, not for the first time, if his sorcerous little brother employs magic to bolster his patience. Thor is aching to be filled but Loki, as ever, seems to be content to tease him for a maddening eternity. He tries to beg more with his body, pushing himself back and Loki allows it with a chuckle, twisting his fingers slowly as Thor fucks himself on his hand. 

His prick pours out a helpless, steady stream onto the bed as the want becomes a heated need, his balls beginning to draw up. Loki withdraws, reaching beneath Thor. He feels the queer tingle of magic as more silk appears, encircling his balls and cock and holding out of reach any promise of release. 

He roars and sounds like a muzzled beast. The humiliation feeds his arousal and it must stir his brother as well, for he moves in close, between Thor’s open knees, and at last the satin skin of Loki’s cock finally kisses Thor’s slick, loosened hole.

Loki carefully pushes in, just the crown inside, and circles his hips gently. He huffs quietly with the effort of control. Thor tries to outmaneuver him, panting and grunting but of course he grows desperate before Loki. He thrusts back and Loki lets him. He sucks Loki’s prick into him in a delicious slide.

Oh, he appreciates the teasing now, and the decadent submission of being filled up, stuffed at both ends and bound up for Loki’s use. His eyes close and he savors the sensations as Loki relents, moving with purpose.   
  
Loki’s lauded control has built his own urgency now. Once he breaks, he ruts into Thor’s body like a maelstrom. Thor rocks with it, stricken with being held at the edge of climax. He’s been trained for a thousand years to come on Loki’s cock, and he is wild with the need for it now.  

A few more strokes and the silk slides from him, and the enspelled apple falls away.

“Come for me, Brother, let me feel it,” Loki pants. “I, hah, I want to hear it.”

Thor comes with a roar. Loki fucks him through bliss and into hissing, swearing oversensitivity, finally spilling inside him with a keening cry. 

The bonds dissolve, and they collapse in a tangle of limbs. Loki waves away the mess and a soothing chill air cools their flesh. They slide into sleep kissing lazily. 

* * *

Thor is afraid to open his eyes when he first wakes, terrified he’d dreamt it. But Loki slips his foot up Thor’s calf. 

“You need to eat, Brother.”

“We must talk first, Loki.”

“After,” Loki insists, and presses the apple into Thor’s mouth, smirking at the deep blush on his brother’s cheeks and ears.   
  
Thor hums happily around a mouthful of fruit, then asks, “Will you be here still, after?”

“I will.”

Thor fixes him with a doubtful glare, tearing savagely into the apple.

Loki casts his fingers into the air and produces a length of his enchanted silk. He knots the end to a bedpost places the other in Thor’s free hand and offers his own, wrists together and palms up.  
  
“I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Uggghhhhh. TFW you have finally worked JARVIS into a story and realize halfway through chapter two that it has to be FRIDAY now, goddamnit, since your dumb ass HAD to set it after Sokovia. But then you get to read it in her voice and it's alllll yummmy. LOL


End file.
